Small Victories
by dead2self
Summary: AU Lord Voldemort may have conquered Wizarding Britain, but he can’t quite conquer Hogwarts Castle. When backed into a corner, the Dark Lord must recruit a single Muggleborn student for Hogwarts, who isn't about to have an easy time becoming a witch.
1. Prologue

Small Victories

Summary: AU Lord Voldemort may have conquered Wizarding Britain, but he can't quite conquer Hogwarts Castle.

Notes: This is not book canon, and it is not what might have happened if Harry hadn't stopped Voldemort in Deathly Hallows. It is an AU but I did decide to take some things from Voldemort's short reign in DH because I liked them. So some things may be similar and some may not. Enjoy.

* * *

**Prologue**

With the Dark Lord's triumph came sweeping social reforms in the wizarding world. The most revolutionary of these reforms was, of course, the elimination of Muggleborns from wizard society, but coming in close second were the plans the Dark Lord had for Hogwarts. Ideally, the next generation of pureblood wizards would have the best education the wizarding world could offer (by the Dark Lord's standards). The plans went smoothly at first – the entire first year went so smoothly that the former critics raved and the budget was fattened – but then it seemed Hogwarts developed a mind of its own.

Problems started cropping up during the third term of that first year, little things that were easily caught in hindsight but overlooked during the euphoria of their first year. Things like the stairways moving a touch faster than was comfortable, or doors going solid just as you tried to walk through. But as Hogwarts had always been a bit on the difficult side to navigate, these paltry nuisances were easily written off.

The real problems began when the Dark Lord eliminated the house of Hufflepuff – or at least attempted to. It was to be a two-fold plan: Hufflepuff the first year, and if that went well, Gryffindor the next. The school administration informed the Sorting Hat just before the Feast, and it took the news surprisingly well – or so they thought until it sorted every last student into Gryffindor. Thinking this strange, the administration interviewed several of the newly sorted students on their conversations with the Sorting Hat. More than one student reported pushy behavior on the Hat's behalf – _Slytherin, you say? No, no, I think Gryffindor may be the best for you. Yes, _GRYFFINDOR!

No matter how many times they attempted to re-Sort the students, the Hat remained obstinate in its decisions. It was speculated that one less House had simply shocked the Hat into a state of disrepair. Finally the situation became so controversial that the Dark Lord himself came to the school to attempt to sort out the problem. Placing the Sorting Hat on his own head, he asked the Hat what House _he_ should belong in.

Without hesitation, the Hat answered, "GRYFFINDOR!"

It was assumed then that the Hat was broken, but the Dark Lord tried to reason with it nonetheless. "But I am Slytherin's heir," he reminded the Hat. "Would I not be better suited for his House?"

There was a moment's pause before the Hat answered cheekily, "Well, since you fancied yourself an _expert_ at Sorting, I thought I would take a page from your book and Sort all of the students into _my_ favorite House."

At that point they had tried to destroy the Hat, but it proved to be surprisingly durable against magic. So, they set it aside and attempted Sorting without it. That had been a disaster. Not only had the dormitories sealed themselves off, the tables in the Great Hall vanished half-way through the first breakfast of term, depositing students and faculty alike onto the floor. The first time a teacher awarded points, the hourglasses simply exploded, sending the colored rubies bouncing around the corridors for weeks to come.

After that the headmaster's office had, naturally, sealed itself off. There was an annual, fruitless endeavor to open it, but nothing ever came of it. Occasionally the former headmasters would slip free of their frames into the main of Hogwarts to give students, faculty, and even, when he still visited the school early on, the Dark Lord a strict dressing-down. Then, before any could retaliate with a well-aimed _Incendio_, they would retreat back into the safety of the sealed office. The late Albus Dumbledore's portrait was particularly fond of this practice – indeed, every time it tickled _his_ fancy to stroll through the castle almost every painting in Hogwarts ended up sharing a frame while their scorched canvases were restored by the decrepit caretaker, Filch.

Filch was another result of the castle's stubbornness. They had fired the Squib right off the bat and went through three other caretakers before they realized that it was not the caretaker's negligence that let the castle slip into such disarray, but the castle itself. It seemed Filch's steadfast devotion to the school had earned him a spot in its heart, so much that it refused to stay clean in the hands of any other. By the third year of Filch's absence, doorknobs dropped from the doors like flies, billows of soot shot sporadically from the fireplaces, and a swamp appeared in the third floor corridor that refused to be Vanished. It was the school-wide flood that finally moved the administration to re-hire Filch, and he attacked the position with as much fervor as he had previously, though with slightly more creaky knees.

Surprisingly, it was Peeves who most valiantly crusaded for the cause of a free Hogwarts. Any opposition from the ghosts had resulted in banishment, but when they had tried to banish Peeves, he had taken it as a personal insult. As things turned out, he had been a part of the castle even _before_ it had become Hogwarts Castle, and the prospect of being cast out had sent him into a rage. If any students had found Peeves annoying when he was only genially unpleasant, it was nothing compared to the havoc he raised when truly provoked. When he was truly in a mood it was not odd to see chalk streaking through the hallways at the speed of bullets or to be pulled dragged down a flight of stairs by your ankles. As a general rule it was unsafe to loiter near any armed suits of armor.

All of this came to a climax one summer when the school simply refused to open its doors. No extent of curse breaking or Dark Arts could force them open, and the prospect of opening in the autumn looked bleak until one day a quivering house elf appeared with a _pop_ on the front lawn to relay the castle's terms. It would not open its doors until Muggleborns were again allowed entrance into the school, as – the elf was emboldened since no one had yet fired a spell at her – "there is three Founders who likes them, and only one who does not." With this news delivered, the elf beat a hasty retreat.

The castle's terms lit up a surge of protests and – very silent – cheers of victory. In the end the Dark Lord had no choice but to look over the list of magical children born and select a Muggleborn girl who looked to have very little potential.

Her name was Marie Hangleton and this is her story. It is not a story of how she single-handedly defeated the Dark Lord and freed wizarding Britain. It is not a story of how she united the houses of Hogwarts. In fact, it is not even a story of her success in any way. It is simply a story of her survival, and of her small victories.

* * *

A/N: So tell me... is it worth continuing? Intriguing at all?   



	2. Chapter 1

Small Victories

by dead2self

**A/N:** Alright, I've really got to apologize. I've had this written for about a month, but I was holding out in hopes of getting a beta reader. Unfortunately that did not go through (I had a beta who didn't return my emails for about two weeks and then told me she wasn't betaing any more... great) so I'm posting this raw too. If you happen to catch any typos or discrepancies, I'd appreciate if you could point them out. Enjoy!

* * *

Marie still remembered what time of day it was and what she had been doing when they first came. It had been 11:46 and since it was raining outside she had been helping her mother with lunch. Her mother had just burnt the toast when the doorbell rang. Eager to escape the disasters in the kitchen, Marie had run to answer the door. She had not gotten three steps into the front hall when the door simply blew off its hinges.

Two men in long black robes and faces like skulls stepped over the smoldering threshold as Marie screamed and tried to retreat into the kitchen, only to find that she was frozen in mid-step. With a silent shriek she toppled to the floor and laid there, trying to roll her eyeballs far enough to the side to get a glimpse of the two men. Marie heard her mother appear in the hallway and then hit the floor in – Marie hoped – the same state that her daughter was in.

Abruptly calloused hands closed around Marie's shoulders and she was propped up against the stairwell. Both of the men had taken off their skull faces – which had turned out to only be masks – and one was reading silently from a large packet of papers.

"Looks like it's her," he said after a moment, a sallow faced youth with teeth bigger than what fit his face. The other nodded his agreement, looking simply bored with the current events.

"Then let's go already," he answered. He snapped the mask back into place before Marie could get a good look at him, and then hefted her stiff body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Marie was frantic as they headed for the front door. She managed to get a glimpse of her mother, who wasn't moving, just as they cleared the front porch and something exploded inside her head. Suddenly she was screaming – and she was surprised to hear that it was outloud now – and she had somehow ended up two driveways down, hurtling towards their garbage cans. Without looking back she pounded up the sidewalk towards the main road. Officer Stephen sometimes camped out in the mouth of their neighborhood to catch speeding drivers and Marie just had a feeling if she could make it…

And there he was. The police cruiser was in sight, she was safe, and then suddenly a burst of red hit her from behind and she flew a foot or so before crashing to the asphalt, frozen again. The man in the skull mask picked her up again, none too lightly, and she tried to scream but then everything was gone and it was dark and her lungs were being squeezed so tightly she'd never be able to breathe again—

Then Marie could breathe again. She could see as well, and after the man had thrown her to the floor and cords came out of the stick he was waving around to bind her wrists and ankles, she could move again also. Another flick of his stick and she was floating along beside him as they started walking. Marie could not help it; she screamed again.

"Be quiet!" snapped the bucktoothed one. "_Silencio_!"

Sound, it seemed, was stolen from her mouth. No matter how she tried nothing came out, though when she started floating jerkily to the side Marie could not help but let out a silent squeal. From her new perspective she could see men and women in funny clothes all rushing all around her, though most of them were going the same direction as her. None of them seemed to notice she was floating beside a man, and those who did only glared at her before glancing away. Her view of the people was blocked suddenly by a towering fountain of a regal looking man in a silly hat, sitting on an ugly throne of distorted, disgusting people. She managed to read the inscription MAGIC IS MIGHT before they passed through the golden gates into a smaller hall packed with people. They seemed to be standing in line, but the crowd parted like the Red Sea before Marie and the two men, freeing up a lift just as grilles slid open.

The men let Marie float in after them and nearly knocked her head on the side of the grate while turning her around. She ended up floating on her back, head lolling back so she could see out the open grilles. Although the lift was still quite empty, none of the people waiting outside made a move to board. When the grilles clanged shut they were still the only ones on the lift.

The lift only stopped once, on "Level three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee" according to the disembodied voice. Marie could not quite figure where it was coming from, but assumed there was a speaker somewhere behind her head. A man had started to get on, then nearly tripped over his own feet backpedaling out of the lift. "Sorry, sorry," he said as the grilles clanged shut once more. Marie was not sure why _he_ had been so scared. She was the one dangling in the middle of the lift, not him.

They finally exited on Level one while the disembodied voice droned, "Minister of Magic and Supporting Staff." There were less people hurrying around on this floor and those who were, were quiet. Very quiet. Marie wondered if they had had their voices stolen like she had.

The maze of hallways opened suddenly into a small sitting area, at the end of which sat a frazzled looking young woman twitching around a stick like the bucktoothed man was using and sending papers flying all over her desk like a miniature snow storm.

"Ms. Parkinson, we've got the girl," said the man who had the bored voice. The secretary gave such a start that the papers around her burst out onto the floor. She recovered herself and a moment later they streamed back onto her desk in a neat pile. Sitting up primly, Ms. Parkinson pressed the stick to her throat and said. "Patterson and the young Malfoy are here, my Lord. They have the Mudblood."

A high, cold disembodied voice replied, "You may enter," and this time Marie was sure it had not come from a speaker. Before she could help it her hands started shaking uncontrollably, and she almost missed seeing the broad mahogany doors at the end of the hall open of their own accord. Patterson and Malfoy marched before her and quite abruptly she was pushed in front of them and dropped to the floor. The cords slipped off her legs and arms, but before she could scramble to safety the doors swung shut behind her.

"You're sure this is the correct girl?"

It was the same high, cold voice. Marie spun on the spot and huddled back against the door, immediately locating the voice's owner in the middle of the room. He was a very pale, bald man leaning over an ornate desk in the middle of the room.

"Yes, my Lord," Patterson answered quickly, and Marie was sure he was trying to get a word in before the Malfoy fellow. "Marie Hangleton."

The man raised his hand wordlessly and waved a stick – what _were_ those things! – at her. "Girl," he said, finally raising his head to fully regard her. "Is that your name?"

Marie did not hear a word the man said, but simply stared as she tried to press further back against the doors. He did not even look human! There was no real nose, only slits like a snake… and the eyes! What terrible, searing red eyes! They burned into hers and she could not look away and her skin was crawling. Finally a scream gurgled up from her throat and her voice vanished again.

"Be quiet you disgusting little creature," the grotesque man snarled as he rounded the desk brandishing the stick. At first Marie thought he was going to hit her with it, but he stopped short. Instead he repeated, "Is your name Marie Hangleton?"

"Y-Yes," Marie stammered, and then remembered that her voice was not present. She nodded frantically instead before the man could think she was trying to be cheeky. The man's lip curled nonetheless.

"_Wonderful_," he drawled.

"She almost escaped too, my Lord!" Patterson piped in eagerly. "Damn accidental magic! But I got her with a Stunning spell, you see—"

The man turned on Patterson and a look of horror crossed his face so that his teeth were protruding more than normal. "I would not be so quick to boast," said the man quietly, "that I was almost overtaken by a small, Mudblood girl."

Patterson nodded shakily, looking just as scared as Marie felt.

"Get out." The command was quiet, but absolute. Both of the young men scrambled for the door, and Marie was shoved aside by the doors when they opened to admit them. She had barely regained herself when she found herself floating again, this time to be set down heavily on her feet. Marie watched warily as the man walked slowly and silently back to the desk.

For the first time she noticed another man slumped over in the chair behind the desk. His head was lolling dangerously on his neck and Marie wondered if he was dead and if that was what they were going to do to her. Then he stirred slightly; the red-eyed man picked him up by the collar of his robes and dropped him unceremoniously to the floor, taking his seat.

"You, come stand here." The man indicated the space in front of the desk with a long, pale finger. Somehow – she was not quite sure how – Marie managed to hobble her way across the room on legs quivering like jelly. She could not bear meeting his eyes again and instead stared down at the immaculate desk top. Not a paper out of place, except for where the unconscious man had clipped the desk with his head when he fell.

Marie's head snapped up as if someone had yanked her ponytail back. "You will listen to me when I am speaking," the man said; their eyes connected and Marie felt like she was going to throw up.

"You will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he continued with an air of annoyance. Marie suspected he had said this once already, and was very careful to hang on his every word now. "You will not be expected to perform on the same level as true witches and wizards, since you are of purely non-magical birth, but as there have been some… problems with the castle itself, and you will at least prove to be useful in that regard."

For the first time Marie was happy she was unable to talk; so many questions were swimming through her head that it would have been impossible to keep her mouth shut, and something told her the man did not take well to interruption. Before she could fully appreciate her silence he waved the stick at her and said, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Marie fidgeted with the hem of her skirt and looked down at the floor. Did he not realize she could not speak? Yet he expected her to talk, so Marie gave a small, experimental hum before speaking.

"Um… S-Sir—I mean, my Lord…" The title felt strange rolling off her lips but it was how all the others had referred to him. "Does this mean I'm a – a witch? And you're a… wizard?"

The man's scarlet eyes narrowed, and there was a strange mix of pride and defeat in his voice. "I am a wizard. You are a Mudblood, not worthy to hold a wand. Nonetheless, Hogwarts will not open its doors this year unless Muggle-borns are allowed admittance. That Mudblood will be you."

"And w-why me?"

The man did not skip a beat – if anything, he replied as if he were discussing the weather. "Because you have very little magical potential. It is unlikely you will be very proficient with a wand, thus making you much easier to kill after your seven years at Hogwarts are completed." Marie's legs finally gave out and she would have been on the floor had it not been for the magic – for now she knew that was what it was – holding her up. "Surely you can't expect me to let a Muggle-born witch run amok?" the man added with a short, cool laugh, "I've finally just rid Britain of them."

Unshed tears stung Marie's eyes and her voice cracked slightly as she asked her last question. "W-Who are y-you?"

The man's lips curled into a smile, a vicious smile that terrified Marie more than anything she had seen so far. "I am Lord Voldemort," he answered, "but you would do good to call me the Dark Lord."

Marie nodded quickly; the Dark Lord seemed satisfied and stood up, wand pressed to his throat. "I am done with her. Send Malfoy and Patterson back in."

There was a pause, and then, "Sir, they've already left… I believe they thought you had dismissed them."

The Dark Lord grumbled a curse under his breath that made Marie gasp, and the broad doors slammed open before him as he stalked across the office, robes billowing around his skeletal frame. Before he could say anything more to the secretary, who seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown, several loud cracks split the air. Marie caught sight of several small animals for a split second before the air cracked again and they were gone, leaving behind only a large pile of envelopes.

Immediately the Dark Lord's rage was redirected to the pile. He let out a frustrated scream and letters went flying in all directions. "Those BLOODY LETTERS!" he bellowed. "You said had been stopped this year!"

"They were, my Lord," Ms. Parkinson said frantically. "I mean, I was told they were, my Lord. I'm sorry, my Lord, I'll dispose of them, of course." Her wand started twitching feverishly between her fingers and the letters started flying into the fireplace. In contrast, Lord Voldemort had settled and when he spoke again the anger in his voice was merely smoldering.

"And when you're done with that, rouse the minister and recast the Imperius curse… I think it may be slipping." He cast a quick glance at Marie. "And find someone to take the Mudblood home. Have her paperwork ready by the 1st of September."

"Of course, my Lord," Ms. Parkinson said smoothly, shooting Marie a glance that clearly said she did not appreciate the added workload. Marie only had eyes for the Dark Lord, or more specifically, the floor where he had been standing. With a start she realized that the man had just vanished into thin air!

"You. Sit there." Ms. Parkinson's voice was no longer the purr it had been when she spoke to the Dark Lord. "I'll deal with you when I'm through with this." The letters, however, were proving difficult to dispose of, and when they started sending off sparks the secretary threw up her hands and rounded on Marie.

"Fine, I'll deal with you first. Come along."

The woman walked with such long, fast strides, heels clicking the whole way, that Marie had to jog to keep up with her. They were moving with such purpose that when Ms. Parkinson simply cornered the first person they came upon in the hall, Marie nearly bumped into the woman in shock.

"You, take the girl home." Marie peeked out from behind Ms. Parkinson. The man was wearing the same skull mask that the others had, but a shock of vibrant red hair was sticking messily out the sides of his, as if it had been snapped on in a hurry. Even with the mask on, he looked confused.

"Me! But I—"

The secretary pulled herself up to her full height and poked him solidly in the chest. "Yes, you. Take her home. Dark Lord's orders." With that she swirled and clacked off in a billow of fancy robes.

Marie regarded the man warily and he did the same to her. "So… who are you?" he asked, beginning to wring out his hands.

"M-Marie Hangleton, sir."

"Mark Clearwater," he answered, holding out his hand and then thinking better of it; Marie had just brushed his fingertips when he pulled it back. Now he adopted an authoritative tone; the encounter with Ms. Parkinson must have left him temporarily out of sorts. "Where do you live?"

"Ipswich, sir. Number 7, Mandeline Lane."

"Very well," he replied, waving her to follow him. "I don't suppose you have a Floo, do you?"

"A what?"

"Oh… Oh dear…" As they boarded the lift, the man flipped up his mask and dragged a freckle-speckled hand across his forehead. Marie thought he looked tinted slightly green. Before she knew it they were back in the giant hall standing next to the towering stone fountain. Mark was muttering feverishly under his breath – "Never did quite get the hang of Side-Along Apparation… hope I don't splinch her, that would be bad. Yes, very bad…" – while Marie found herself face to face with one of the snarling characters that made up the wizard's chair.

"S-Sir," Marie said, pulling on the hem of Mark's sleeve. Maybe it was because he was acting so nervous, but he seemed the most approachable of all the wizards she had met thus far. "Who are theses people supposed to be?"

Mark jumped, startled out of his mumbling, and stared down at Marie incredulously. "Why, they're Muggles of course. What else would they be?"

"Oh, um… right." Marie sensed that it would be best _not_ to ask what a Muggle was, and averted her eyes to the floor.

Mark suddenly plucked her hand up in his, heaving a deep breath. "Right then, let's be on our way." Before Marie could even steel herself for the departure she was being squeezed, as if someone were trying to fit her through a tube she was much too large for, and then she popped out, reeling, on her own driveway. At first she wondered if it had been a dream, and then she saw the door, still blown off its hinges.

Tearing herself away from Mark, who looked rather shellshocked, Marie tore up the driveway and launched herself over the rubble by the front door, sliding to a stop on her knees next to her mother's prone body. "Mum!" she shrieked, trying to shake the stiff body. Mark appeared in the doorway, nose wrinkled in revulsion as he took in the front hall.

"So _you're_ the new Muggle-born student."

Marie spun, not yet aware of his sudden attitude change. "Please, sir, I think they've killed her!"

"No, she's simply stunned." Mark swished his wand and Marie's mother began stirring. Marie flung herself on top of her, clinging for dear life, and began to sob. There was only so much emotion her tiny body could handle in one day; Mark, in the meantime, looked eager to be rid of the place. "Good day then," he said stiffly, and abruptly disappeared.

Marie did not notice he had gone; she was too busy trying to explain to her mother between sobs what had happened. When her father arrived home from work they were still huddled together in the front hall, stuck there in shock. He would have thought them both deranged had it not been for the front door, and that night Marie slept with her parents, her dreams filled with flying papers and bright scarlet eyes.

When she woke up early the next morning, the door had been fixed; there was not even a chip in the paint to indicate it had been blown in the day before. Silently Marie wondered if she was going insane, but when she was mindlessly slurping the milk out of her cereal she saw the two owls perched outside the kitchen window. They must have noticed her watching them, because immediately they began rapping on the glass most insistently. Curious, and a bit frightened, Marie let herself out the back and walked around to the kitchen window, where both owls held their legs out to her expectantly. It was then that she noticed something attached to their legs; parchment, she realized, as she untied them. Freed of their missives, the birds took flight, startling Marie so fiercely that she threw her arms over her head with a shriek.

Once she recovered, Marie chided herself and retreated to the kitchen with the papers, which turned out to be letters addressed to her, both bearing a Hogwarts crest. The first read:

_Miss Marie Hangleton,_

_It is our deepest regret to inform you that, although you have been gifted with an extraordinary talent, you will not be allowed entrance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite whatever you might be told in the future, you are a witch and are perfectly capable of doing magic – which should explain some very confusing circumstances in your childhood! Accidental magic is the greatest evidence that even non-magical born witches and wizards are still witches and wizards._

_Unfortunately, current administration at Hogwarts and in the Ministry of Magic feel differently on this matter and have closed off admissions to Muggle-borns – students of non-magical parentage – deeming them unworthy of magical education. Please voice your complaints to the Ministry of Magic by sending long, angry, anonymous letters with the owl that delivered this letter, as you have a full right to your magical education._

_Regretfully,_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Marie set this letter carefully aside on the table, a small smile creeping onto her lips as she recalled the one situation the day before that seemed out of the wizards' control. Carefully she picked up the next letter, which was more formal and on thicker parchment.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Antonin Dolohov_

_Dear Ms. Hangleton,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Severus Snape,_

_Deputy Headmaster_

The first thought this letter brought forth was how she was going to reply by owl if both of the owls she had ever seen up close had just flown away. Then she remembered the finality with which the Dark Lord had told her she would be attending, and decided it was probably not necessary. Absentmindedly she read over the second page of the letter: the list of equipment.

Then it struck her. How in the world was she going to find something like dragon hide gloves or a size two pewter cauldron by September 1?


	3. Chapter 2

Small Victories

by dead2self

* * *

Butterflies – though they certainly felt _bigger_ than butterflies – were fluttering in Marie's stomach as she sat on the foot of the stairs very early in the morning on September 1. Her parents sat beside her, her school satchel was slung across her chest, and her trunk, which weighed more than she did, was ready at her feet. None of them were talking.

Marie's parents had not approved of her going off to a school, a magic school no less, that they knew nothing about; Marie was not so keen on the idea herself, but, then, they had not met the Dark Lord. She had been vehement about going, spurred on only by her memory of that terrible man. And though her parents did not approve, they had thrown themselves into making sure everything was as perfect as they could make it for her departure.

Together they had scrounged up as many things on Marie's supply list as they could. Her mother had scoured every flea market in the area for a small cauldron (they had no clue if it was a size 2, but she would make do) and a set of shiny brass scales. Her father had arrived home one evening with the most magnificent telescope, complete with a collapsible stand, and based solely on Marie's descriptions of wizard clothes her mother sewn her a whole set of school robes. The day before her father had presented her with a toad he found on the driveway, but Marie made him put it back in the lawn.

Now all they could do was wait. Marie had told her parents she was excited, but in truth she had become vaguely frustrated with the whole ordeal. Oh, of course, it explained several things; the time her hair turned blonde and straightened because she had envied her doll's hair, the time she switched a full three hiding spots in hide-and-seek-in-the-dark without actually moving, the time Billy Barclay had tried to copy off her test and he had been attacked by his own pencil… But she had carefully ignored these incidents because they did not fit in with her greatest ambition.

Marie Hangleton had always wanted to become a lawyer because lawyers could be calculating and underhanded all they wanted and could call it a profession. She had always been good with details and solving problems and she craved to be in an office later in life, poring over contracts for loopholes. Unfortunately lawyers, above all else, did not have magical powers; in fact, Marie suspected that law and magic were polar opposites.

So instead of the upscale boarding school she had been planning to attend over in Cambridge, Marie was going off to a school for wizards that clearly did not want her; the irony was not wasted on Marie. She had told all her friends, who _were_ going to nice upscale schools, that she had been hand-selected to go to a boarding school for the elite. They all pretended to congratulate her, but Marie knew they knew she was lying. They probably all thought she had not been able to get into the school of her choice and was saving face.

Marie had flushed just thinking about it when the doorbell rang. Giving them no chance this time to break down the door, Marie leapt to her feet, tripped over her trunk, and flung the door open. Discreetly trying to choke back the tears welling up in her eyes, Marie greeted the witch standing on the front stoop. At least she was not wearing a mask like a skull.

"Oh, do try to quell your childish homesickness until you are actually away from your home," the witch said tartly as she swept through the front door, pocketing her wand. She swept a critiquing glance over Marie's parents before reluctantly offering her hand for two brief handshakes. Marie noticed she discreetly wiped her hand on her skirt when she was done.

"Marietta Edgecombe, Department of Muggle Affairs." the woman introduced herself. "I will be accompanying your daughter to King's Cross."

Marie's parents exchanged a look while Marie closed the front door and tried to nurse her stubbed toe without the woman noticing. "You mean down in London?" her father asked, almost crossly. "Why, we could have seen her off ourselves if you weren't going to cart her off in some 'magical' way."

"The Hogwarts Express departs from Platform 9¾ at King's Cross," Ms. Edgecombe said, glaring down her nose at him. "It is purely magical and _you_, sir, would be entirely out of place."

Satisfied that Mr. Hangleton looked sufficiently humbled – "Nine and_three-quarters_," he kept muttering – Marietta turned on Marie. "So you're the Mudblood…" she sneered. Marie straightened her posture under the sharp glare and met the gaze as defiantly as she dared. "Unimpressive little twit, aren't you?"

Marie's mother let out a strangled little gasp that went unnoticed and Marietta's gaze wandered to the floor. "And this is your trunk… Merlin, child, did you pack your bedroom?"

"Well, no, I couldn't quite find everything on the list. The books—"

"All your equipment has already been supplied and will be waiting for us at King's Cross. You may leave this behind." The witch swished her wand at the trunk and it began trundling up the stairs. "Now, we must be on our way or you will be late. The train will _not_ wait for you."

Marie stared in horror after her trunk. "But my things!"

But Ms. Edgecombe had already taken her wrist in a no-nonsense grip. "It will not wait," she warned. "Now, let's—" Marie ripped her wrist free before they could disappear and flung herself into her parents waiting arms. They managed to squeeze in one heartfelt goodbye before Ms. Edgecombe regained her grip on Marie, snarling, "We must be going!" and then they were gone.

Marie pitched forward when they landed, but Ms. Edgecombe's firm grip kept her upright. The woman tossed aside a paperclip and was walking again before Marie had time to get her bearings. Before she knew it they were in the station and her breath was coming in short spurts from the brisk pace. "Don't slow down," the woman warned, and too late Marie realized they were half-running towards a solid wall. Instinctively Marie tried to stop, but a swift jerk from Ms. Edgecombe propelled her forward.

And through the wall. Marie's mouth dropped open.

Ms. Edgecombe was pulling her along again, but Marie only had eyes for Platform Nine and Three-quarters. The platform was packed with students being fussed over last minute by their parents, and the disgruntled hoots of owls drifted over the crowd. It struck her that for once she was surrounded by people completely like herself, people who made weird things happen, and she was _almost_ happy to be there. But what drew her attention the most was the brilliantly scarlet steam engine sitting majestically at the front of the train. She stood entranced by it while Ms. Edgecombe spoke to one of the guards, and was suddenly struck with dread. The train was the same shade as the Dark Lord's eyes.

"What are you doing, child? Come along." Ms. Edgecombe swept her along again, now with a ratty old trunk floating along behind them. There was a short queue at the train doors as students began loading their luggage, and while they paused Ms. Edgecombe checked her hair in the coach window. Suddenly her face fell.

"Oh! Oh no!" she exclamed, poking frantically at her face. "The glamour—!"

Marie turned around, confused, and her question stuck in her throat; she let out a shriek instead. Ms. Edgecombe's face was covered with spidery scars that spelled out SNEAK. The woman echoed Marie's shriek, tugging the collar of her robes up clear to her eyes.

"Y-You can find your way on the train on your own, I-I assume," the woman stammered, looking anxiously towards the exit. "Yes, yes, of course you can. G-good day." Taking off at a sprint that overturned three trolleys, Ms. Edgecombe disappeared through the barrier. Marie's trunk landed with a heavy 'thud' next to her feet.

Gritting her teeth, Marie seized a handle of the trunk and heaved with all her strength, moving it about an inch. Her eyes flickered to the train door and the hallway, which now seemed an impossible distance to cover with the trunk in tow. She cast about nervously for any sort of help, starting to hear annoyed murmurs coming from behind her.

"Oh, just help the girl with her trunk! We'll be here forever." Letting out a little yelp as she was shoved into the train, Marie looked back to see a squat witch pushing her string-bean of a husband towards Marie's trunk. The man lifted the trunk with a swish of his wand and waved impatiently for Marie to lead the way into the train. Marie shuffled down the corridor as quickly as she could manage and found an empty compartment. The man placed her trunk on a shelf, and Marie managed a quick thank you before he slipped away and she was alone.

She sat alone in her compartment for a very long while. Several people glanced in at her, but Marie seemed to be repellant in and of herself. One person even got so far as to open the compartment door – she was not paying attention, as she was laughing with her friends – and set one foot over the threshold before beating a hasty retreat. Being alone on her first day of school was a new experience for Marie. She had never been the loner; on the contrary, she had always been very popular and quick to draw friends. But now, despite flashing her sweetest smile to each passing onlooker, she was sitting alone in a train compartment that could have easily held six or eight children her own age. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

The train lurched and they began pulling away from the station. Marie abandoned her watch on the corridor and laid her head against the cool window pane. It now felt more official; no one was coming to sit with her. Nose pressed against the glass, she watched the city roll by until buildings were few and far between. Just as the clean, green countryside began to give way to messier terrain, a pronounced cough drew her attention to the door she had not realize had been opened.

"Hello," she said, recovering quickly from surprise and flashing a winning smile.

The boy, a dark beauty with a body that seemed too scrawny to fit the look of arrogance on his face, did not greet her in return. Instead he gave Marie a long once-over, drinking in each feature with a small sneer. Finally, he spoke. "My mother and father say I'm not to associate with you." Nonetheless he strode confidently into the compartment and took a seat across from her. His tone rubbed Marie the wrong way, and she could not help but snarl back at him. He had not even asked permission to join her – no matter that she had wanted company since the beginning of the trip.

He was looking her over again and Marie bristled. "If that's the case, then why don't you get out?" she snapped.

The boy's look hardened and he leaned forward, shaking with suppressed anger. "Disgusting," he spat. "You would do well to learn to address true wizards with proper respect. 'Sir' would be an appropriate title, I believe."

It was one thing to be talked down upon by a terrible wizard like Dark Lord, and perhaps even the other wizards she had met thus far, but the very idea of addressing a wizard her own age as 'Sir', who – in all likelihood – could produce no more spells than she could was degrading on a whole different level. Hands clenched tightly in her lap to conceal her own rage, Marie leaned towards him as well.

"I don't see you doing any magic. I'll bet you don't even know any spells."

The boy's face faltered and Marie felt a tinge of pride. "Of course I do," he said, though his voice had lost a bit of its pompous edge.

"Let's see it then."

The boy hesitated before he drew a long black wand from his pocket, rolled it between his fingers, and then accidentally dropped it on the floor. The wand set off sparks that singed Marie's shoes before the boy snatched it up again, red-faced.

Marie raised an eyebrow. "Brilliant. I can see you're a _true_ wizard," she drawled, quite pleased with herself.

The boy was positively scarlet now and he whipped the wand in her direction. "I'll show you, Mudblood!" Nothing happened, and Marie barked out a derisive laugh.

Then she was writhing and screaming herself hoarse. Vaguely she realized she had fallen to the floor of the compartment, but it did not matter because the pain was so acute; ripping, burning, searing pain twisted through her veins and it was becoming harder and harder to breath because her lungs felt like they were shriveling in her chest. She could not handle any more; she was going to die, but it only kept coming and coming for what felt like an eternity of screaming her throat raw and curling into a tight ball as if that would satiate the pain, only to be ripped open again by a fresh wave of pain that seemed deeper than the last—

Abruptly it was over and Marie lay trembling uncontrollably on the floor of her compartment. A brief, terrified glance at the boy showed he was holding his wand loosely, looking just as shocked as she was.

"Let that be a lesson," drawled a bored voice from the doorway, although Marie could not move well enough to see who it was. It seemed so oddly familiar, but she could not think properly…

"You will show proper respect from now on, or you'll be getting more than a few seconds worth of the Cruciatus Curse." Marie was pulled roughly back to her seat on the bench, and she came face to face to a boy with too-blue eyes and nearly white blonde hair. She did not recognize him, but he sounded so familiar. Why could she not place him…

Marie yelped suddenly and the older boy jerked away from her in surprise. "You!" she accused, pointing a finger at him. "You're the one who destroyed our door! That day with the Dark Lord!"

"Yes, I did have the unfortunate assignment of retrieving you," he answered, pocketing his wand.

Marie tried to swallowing the lump growing in her throat. "H-He – that is, the Dark Lord – won't be at the school, will he?"

"The Dark Lord _hardly_ has the time to attend to the trivial matters of a school. Why do you think we have a headmaster?"

Marie was so relieved she missed his superior tone. "Oh, thank goodness," she breathed, receiving an odd look. Quickly she jumped to cover her mistake. "What was your name again? I think I remember… Starts with an 'M', I'm sure of it…" Marie racked her brain as she clung to the tendrils of conversation, but that day was so blurred in her memory; she could only recall snatches and certain vivid details like the eyes and the letters, but a name mentioned only in passing—

"Orion Malfoy," he said, and Marie was so thankful for a thread of conversation she could grasp that she was able to forgo his sneer. She had also picked up by now that he would not take her hand even if she offered it, so she did not.

"Pleasure," she said, turning to the boy her age. "And you?"

The boy considered whether or not he should lower himself to tell her, because he obviously wanted her to know who he was, and finally raised his chin a notch and answered, "Castor Lestrange."

The whole moment was anticlimactic because it was clear he expected some sort of ridiculous deal to be made over his name and Marie had no idea with what she was supposed to be impressed. "So, you're both named after stars…?" she ventured cautiously. "Is that common among wizards?"

Orion snorted back a laugh that could have been humored or derisive (Marie could not tell), but Castor's chin snapped up another notch. "The Most Noble House of Black has always named its children after the strongest of the celestial bodies—"

"Give it a rest, Castor," Orion snapped at him. "The illustrious name of Black is dead now."

Castor's face was blotchy with color and he sat so far forward on the edge of his seat he nearly fell off. "Just because your mother doesn't take pride in her heritage—"

"I don't take pride in a family whose most recent generation was chock full of blood-traitors—"

Castor shot to his feet. "My mother is not a blood-traitor! She serves the Dark Lord faithfully—"

"And my mother as well," Orion answered, jerking Castor back into his seat. "But the men were blood-traitors, the lot of them, and they're the ones who were carrying the name." He scowled down at the younger boy, who was still shaking with anger. "All I'm saying is that you better keep your arrogant little mouth shut or you're going to get yourself killed this year."

Marie watched this exchange with interest, though she still was not sure if the House of Black was a family or some sort of cult. Her small hiccup abruptly alerted the boys that she was still sitting with them, and they both turned to glare at her, as if she were intruding on some private moment. Then they pointedly turned away and settled into an uncomfortable silence.

Relative silence, that is. Marie could not stop hiccupping. She pressed her nose up against the window and feigned interest in the countryside to try to hide them, but they kept getting louder.

"Shut up or get out," Orion snapped suddenly.

Marie jumped away from the window and stared at him in surprise. "But I was – _hiccup_ – here first!"

Orion glared at her, thin-lipped, and she noticed that his wand was in his hand again. Marie flinched back against the seat without meaning to, but he only waved it at the compartment door to open it. Without a second thought, Marie scrambled out into the corridor on shaky legs and slid down against the wall. The compartment door slammed shut and she could just make out Castor's barking laughter.

Without warning, tears started streaming down her face. She had promised –_promised_ – herself she would not cry, but here she was sitting in the hallway, not even in a compartment anymore, all by herself. All by herself.

Frankly, it was hard not to cry.


	4. Chapter 3

Small Victories

by dead2self

**A/N:** I'm trying to decide whether or not to just post all the chapters I have written... I have a few more done, but I've been stuck for about a month so I'm staggering them! lol Anyways, enjoy Marie's Sorting and my pitiful attempt at a Sorting song.

* * *

No one stood around Marie as she stood shivering in the antechamber adjacent to the front hall. The beauty of the castle's high arching front hall had been lost on Marie and the other students who had fallen in the lake. She had been too busy glaring at a girl with blonde hair; they had been too busy glaring at Marie.

It was ridiculous that they were glaring, as it had hardly been her fault. Marie had just started wringing out the sleeves of her robes when she was knocked aside by a man in a billowing black cloak as he entered the antechamber.

"What took so long?" he snapped, drawing up even with the squat witch who had led the way across the lake. She had announced her name, but Marie had been too busy looking for her wand, which had fallen through a hole in her robe pocket, to hear it.

"I'm sorry!" the woman huffed, looking affronted. She lowered her voice, but Marie could still hear her clearly. "It was that Muggle-born girl. She fell in the lake."

The man sniffed. "Typical." Marie let out a disgruntled snort. She had _not _fallen. Castor's girlfriend pushed her out of the boat. "I trust you fished her out? We cannot lose her."

"Naturally, naturally," replied the woman, who was eager to continue the story. "But the merpeople attacked again. Overturned two boats. It took ages to get the students situated again."

If the man knew the witch was lying through her teeth, he did not show it. Marie put on her best pout. They had certainly _not_ fished her out of the water. She had been pulled down! Something with long fingers had grabbed her ankle and jerked her down, and just when she thought she was going to drown something broke the hold. The next thing she knew a strong, rough hand had seized her arm and she had been dragged back to the surface. She had found unstable rock beneath her feet and had scrambled ashore just in time to see a tangled mess of seaweed and a grey fin disappear beneath the water. Once ashore she had not been sure of what to do. Screams had carried across the lake and if she squinted she had been able to see the shadowy forms of something jumping out of the water around the boats.

Whatever he thought of the news, the man did not look entirely disturbed. "I will speak to the headmaster about the merpeople. It may be that this illustrious tradition is on its last legs." He gave a smile that looked more like he was baring his yellowish teeth.

This seemed to satisfy the witch, and finally the man turned to address the first years. "Welcome to Hogwarts. I am the Deputy Headmaster, Professor Snape."

Professor Snape had a very large hooked nose and deep wrinkle lines on his forehead that made him look perpetually angry. His hair was stringy and greasy, and while it may have once been a lovely shade of black, it was now peppered with grey. He was sneering down his nose at them, and from the tone of his voice it was clear that he did not enjoy this part of his job. Marie decided that she did not like him.

"Shortly you will be taken into the Great Hall to be Sorted into either Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor," Professor Snape continued. "I trust you will appreciate the gravity of this ceremony, because it will determine your place in this school for the next seven years, and possibly your place in the world for the remainder of your life. You will live with your house, dine with your house, attend classes with your house, and win points for your house. At the end of the year the house with the most points will receive the house cup, which you all know holds great merit, especially for the older students. You will put forth your best, pitiful efforts if only for their sakes."

Marie was confused now, but the Professor's short speech was over and he was already striding for the doors. "I will retrieve you in a minute's time. When I return, you will be properly straightened up to appear before the rest of the school." The squat witch scurried after him and the doors slammed behind them with a resounding bang.

The chatter started slowly. "He's worse than my brother said."

"I wouldn't say that if I were you. He's in You-Know-Who's inner circle, you know." Whispers got quieter.

Marie, who had no one to talk to, instead tried to adjust her robes. They were quite a bit too short, the frayed hem hanging high enough to display her jeans and her trainers. There was a hole in the right pocket, so she had to remember to keep her wand in the left pocket. She might have been pleased to find her wand if she had not seen Orion and Castor's wands. Theirs were shiny and long, but hers was short, a little crooked, and had a good-sized chip in it. It was probably second-hand, just like the robes and the books she had found in her trunk.

"Tugging on it won't make it any better, you know."

Marie jumped at the sudden interruption of her thoughts. The blonde haired girl had left Castor's side and was now standing next to her, examining her nails. "Thank you, I hadn't noticed," Marie answered coolly.

"They're really terrible. Are all Muggles _that_ poor?"

Marie felt her face going ruddy and she clenched her teeth to keep from shouting. "No. My family is well off, thank you very much. My mother made me a set of school robes, but—"

"She did a pretty awful job then, didn't she?" Marie's fingers twitched towards the girl's neck just before she pulled them back to her sides and stuffed them in the pockets of her robe.

"No, hers were fine. The witch who picked me up this morning made me leave them at home."

"Oh. That's too bad," the girl answered. She picked at her nails before getting to the point. "I think Castor likes you."

Obviously the girl was a bit touched in the head. "I think he made it clear that he does not," Marie answered, raising an eyebrow.

A knowing smile appeared on the girl's lips. "No, he thinks you're interesting. Stay away from him."

"With pleasure." Marie fingered the wand in her pocket. She did not know any spells, but if she swung hard enough it would probably leave a good mark.

"My name is Lacey Rowle." Again there was that infuriating pause as if Marie was supposed to be impressed by the name. When she did not react, Lacey straightened her robes and squared her shoulders. "Now, don't go getting any high notions about yourself if Castor happens to talk to you. You are not special. You are merely here so the rest of us _real_ witches can learn properly. I know. My daddy told me _all_ about what happened over the summer."

Marie found her curiosity piqued despite herself, but before the conversation went any farther the doors to the antechamber slammed open. Marie hissed in pain as the door crashed into her foot and knocked her off balance. Biting back tears, she watched Professor Snape swoop past without apology and begin to straighten the students into a semblance of a line. Marie limped her way to the back of the line, thinking sarcastically that it was a good thing her stubbed toe now had a twin.

When they were led into the Great Hall, Marie barely noticed the eyes trained on them. She stared back, overcome by the sea of black robes and hats. Her eyes managed to glimpse the ceiling and she stared, engrossed, until she ran into the person in front of her. The rest of the line had stopped walking, but Marie was comforted by the fact that she was not the only one staring in open awe. She stood on her tiptoes to see towards the front of the line, just barely able to make out the head table, where the professors were not smiling, and a tattered hat atop a stool.

Then without further formalities, Professor Snape barked, "Aubery, Marcus!"

Uncertainly, the round-faced boy at the front of the line approached the stool. He stood in front of it nervously until the Professor hissed, "Put it on, boy!"

A wave of snickers crossed the hall as the boy snatched up the hat and stuffed it on his head. Marie imagined he was glad it fell over his face because it had gotten quite red.

The people in front of her were standing on their tiptoes now also, and for a moment Marie was unable to see. And then suddenly – "GRYFFINDOR!"

There was a smattering of applause and a great deal of murmuring while the boy wobbled over to the correct table, the one with red and gold hangings above it. "I wouldn't like to be him," said the boy in front of Marie. All of the students were now watching the boy sit down, and without those in front of her on tiptoes Marie caught the slight movement from the hat. It opened the rip in its side, and began to sing.

_Oh, silence is a dreadful burden,_

_And they've ordered me to shut my lid,_

_But since a song I'm not to sing,_

_I'll chant a verse between each kid._

Marie was not the only one with her jaw unhinged. A few students clapped at the impromptu song, but those at the head table were not so amused. The man seated in the middle furrowed his brows so intensely he looked to be willing the hat to explode.

Snape steadfastly ignored the hat and called the next student. "Barret, Katie!"

Katie approached the hat as if it were going to bite her and put it on as fast as possible. The hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!" – and Marie could see this time that it had actually been the hat talking all along. The second the hat touched the stool, it opened its mouth again to sing. Katie jumped half a foot into the air.

_I ask the headmaster to hold his wrath_

_And to kindly consider last year._

_The damage done to the staffroom _

_Was, I recall, shockingly severe._

The few giggles that echoed through the hall were quickly silenced by the angry man sitting at the head table. Snape called "Baugher, Michael" forward.

"SLYTHERIN!"

_I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I'm afraid I'm here to stay._

_Try to mute and toss me out, _

_But you cannot throw me away._

Several students were called forward after that, and the hat remained silent. Then, after "Fletcher, Stanton":

_For many years I've Sorted students_

_Longer than you know_

_Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin,_

_I can see where you will go._

They passed through the G's without another song, and Marie was nearly bouncing on her toes in anticipation. Her name was next! It had to be!

"Hopkins, Amanda!" "Ravenclaw!"

The color drained from Marie's face and she felt her heart drop into her stomach. She was not to be Sorted, then? She should not have gotten her hopes up. She barely realized the Hat was singing again.

_Perhaps you'll go to Slytherin_

_To win society's favors_

_Ambitious, cunning, above the rest,_

_You'll likely not learn manners._

A roar of indignation rose from the Slytherin table, but Marie was too wrapped in her thoughts to register it. Was she going to be kept separate from the other students? If she was not to be Sorted, would she be allowed to learn at all? To go to a school and not learn! The very idea put a bad taste in Marie's mouth. Another student was called up, a boy, but she missed his name. He was Sorted to Gryffindor, like she would not be, and the Hat sang again.

_Fated, perhaps, for Ravenclaw_

_With intelligence beyond compare?_

_But if homework starts to swallow you,_

_None will shed a tear._

And they certainly would not allow her in that house. What if she was not even given access to books! Marie was beginning to feel nauseous. "Lestrange, Castor!" and "Macnair, Philip!" were both Sorted into Slytherin before the hat sang again.

_The true and loyal fall to Hufflepuff_

_Though poor and ridiculed they are._

_With hearts as big as hippogriffs,_

_They will carry their friends far._

Maybe I could tag along with them, Marie thought. Although she did not know if hippogriffs were large or small, perhaps they would find it in those hearts to adopt an un-Sorted student like herself.

The Hat did not sing again until after "Rowle, Lacey!" was Sorted to Slytherin, the most popular house so far.

_Perhaps the house of Gryffindor_

_Is truly where you belong._

_And though their numbers dwindle_

_The brave few still stand strong._

Marie glanced towards the red and gold table as a few older students gave exuberant wolf-calls. A much louder chorus of booing echoed across the hall from the Slytherin table. Marie shuddered. She would avoid the Gryffindors; she did not need any more enemies than she already had.

The Hat did not sing again. One by one, all of the students around Marie approached the stool and were Sorted. "Witterby, Allen!" was the last to be called, leaving Marie alone when he sauntered off towards the Gryffindor table.

Every eye was now trained on Marie, and she felt the acute need to curl into a ball and escape the onslaught. "Muggleborn: Hangleton, Marie," Professor Snape read, his voice no longer a bark. Instead it came out in a sneering sort of way, and once he was finished he looked slowly up at Marie. She froze. Why did he not tell her to sit down? Did they insist on dragging out her embarrassment?

"Ms. Hangleton, are you incapable of walking or are you simply an idiot?"

Marie's mouth worked soundlessly until her head caught up with her. "What?"

"Take a seat on the stool, Ms. Hangleton," Snape drawled. "Unless that is too difficult?"

"N-No!" Marie hobbled forward as fast as she could, more aware of her throbbing toes than before. She had gotten halfway across the hall when the Sorting Hat's voice boomed louder than it had the whole ceremony.

_Welcome muggleborn child_

_To a world you have not known_

_And though it pains us much,_

_You will feel quite alone._

Marie stopped short of the Hat and stared. It had just addressed her, but not in the same biting, acidic voice it had used for the rest of its songs. The voice sounded entirely different – louder, melodic. She shuffled closer, entranced.

_You may be treated harshly,_

_And punished when not due,_

_But brighten up, 'cause now you know,_

_All of Hogwarts is behind you._

Marie stood before the Hat, mouth open, and did not want to pick it up in case it had more to say. The rip in the Hat curled open. Marie leaned towards it.

"Stop gawking and put the hat on, you stupid mudblood!" The angry man had descended from the table. He shoved Marie onto the stool and stuffed the Hat on her head before it could say anything more.

"Sir, please do not remove yourself from your place of honor for her sake," she heard Professor Snape saying. "I can deal with her."

"Not a very pleasant man, the Headmaster."

Marie jumped and almost fell off the stool. A hand on her shoulder steadied her.

"Are you the hat?" she asked.

"In your head, dear, or you'll look quite silly. Hmm… Quite a lot of ambition, that's for sure. I'm tempted to put you in Slytherin to spite them, but no – that would go distinctly against Slytherin's preference. No muggleborns in Slytherin, you see. Gryffindor, then? They're more similar than people like to think."

_Not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor!_ Marie thought. _I have enough problems as it is!_

"No, I suppose that isn't best… My, you do have a clever head! A little hidden under all your irrational thoughts at the moment, but I'm quite surprised I didn't see it first. That settles things. You're best-suited for RAVENCLAW!"

There was an echo of groans from the Ravenclaw table when Marie approached and she was a tad disappointed by the response. But that could not stem the joy that put a spring in her step despite her limp. She was going to learn magic after all, and in the best house in the entire school!

Headmaster Dolohov had returned to the head table and Professor Snape now joined him. Once Marie had sat down between two other first years who shifted away from her, the headmaster stood up.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," he boomed in a charismatic voice that did not quite match his brutish face. "Let the feast begin."


	5. Chapter 4

Small Victories

by dead2self

* * *

Marie's first day of classes had not been entirely dismal so far. Orion had led all of the first year Ravenclaws to their classes because he was Head Boy, and also in Ravenclaw. It was a nice gesture, but Marie was certain Orion was _not_ a nice boy because every time he looked at her, he sneered. Then he laughed dryly under his breath. It never failed.

Just to make sure, Marie made eye contact with Orion when he turned to make sure all of the first years were following him down the stairway into the dungeons. He blinked, sneered, and then laughed. It was like clockwork. _Maybe I should keep count,_ Marie thought. It could be like a game – how many sneer-laugh combinations could she rack up in a day?

The very idea was pitiful, but Marie needed something to hang onto. Her first class had been Transfiguration. Professor Knackerby – the lumpy old witch who had left her to drown in the lake – had largely ignored Marie from the moment she set foot in the classroom to the moment she left. This was much preferable to the cold reception she had experienced at breakfast. The most food she had been able to snatch before she fled was a buttered slice of toast. Someone hit her in the back of the head with a spoonful of oatmeal, and while waiting for Orion to lead the rest of the first years out, Marie had valiantly combed it out of her hair.

Marie had been itching to try out her wand – she had even cracked a few of her dusty textbooks to find easy-to-do spells. Three pages fell out of her Charms textbook in the process. Ironically, the pages had described a Sticking Charm. She had resolved to put them back in once she mastered that particular charm, but at the moment she only felt awkward waving her wand around. She had decided to wait until properly instructed to try magic. Unfortunately, Knackerby's class had been entirely lecture, with a promise that they might try real Transfiguration the next day if they did their homework properly.

Since Marie's next class was potions, it was a safe bet she would not be using her wand any time soon.

Marie cast one last glance at Orion (_Two_, she counted, when he shot her a final glare) before shuffling into the classroom. The rest of her classmates had taken their seats and the Hufflepuffs had been in the room before the Ravenclaws came. They had only left one seat open, a table in the front row beside the Professor's desk.

The Professor was not in the classroom yet, but as Marie walked to her lone seat she heard murmurs. Professor Snape, the Deputy Headmaster and highly-ranked Death Eater, was the potions master, she heard, and he was always most irritable on the first day. Better sit in the back and escape notice, they said.

Biting her lip, Marie sunk into her front seat and arranged her things on her desk. Her transfiguration notes had been a disaster with the brittle parchment and the well-worn quills she had been provided. It was a wonder she could read them with all the ink splotches, and now her hand was black with ink. She wiped her hand on her robes (honestly, they could not get much worse, so why not?) just as the door to the classroom slammed open. Jumping half a foot in the air, Marie managed to knock over her inkwell and completely ruin her clean parchment. The snickers around her were quelled as Snape swooped towards the front of the room.

"_Scourgify!_" Snape said waspishly, and the ink vanished from her parchment. That was all well and good, but now Marie was out of ink. What she would not give for a ballpoint pen!

"A wonderful indication of things to come," Snape hissed before taking roll call. Marie slunk further into her seat and tried to salvage what was left of her ink. Finally the professor set down the ledger, flicked his wand at the board, and tucked the wand away in his desk while chalk began writing potions ingredients on the board. When he addressed the class his voice was so quiet, even Marie had to lean forward to hear; yet somehow, he commanded the attention of every person in the classroom.

"Wands away. We will not be exploring such fickle magic in this classroom. You will be studying the precise art of potion making. Some of you may be disappointed by this subtlety," he added, and Marie suspected he had heard her disappointed sigh, "but not everyone can fully appreciate this branch of magic. It is likely that more than half of you will be dismal potions brewers." His eyes raked over the room and Marie realized he was observing the Hufflepuff section of the room. His eyes jumped to her before he continued.

"For those of you that are passable potion makers, all the opportunities of the world will be placed at your fingertips. Whether you want to bottle luck, death, or _love_, there is a potion for it." He spat the word "love" with such distaste that Marie got a bitter taste in her mouth just hearing it. She leaned forward nonetheless, enthralled and expecting more, but Snape did not continue. Instead he turned to a very small Hufflepuff girl and snapped, "Barret! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Katie Barret jumped and dropped the cauldron she had been cradling in her lap. It hit the ground with a clang and she jumped again. "I-I don't k-know, Sir," she answered.

Snape's lip curled. "Naturally. He continued his interrogation of Barret, who remained consistently ignorant, and Marie's attention wandered to the board behind him. The chalk had finished writing the instructions for a potion to cure boils. It had strange ingredients like porcupine quills and snake fangs, but the directions read like a recipe straight out of her mother's cooking magazines. A grin rose unbidden on her face.

"You find trapping someone into a lifeless sleeping state _amusing_, Miss Hangleton?"

Marie's smile staggered until she realized she had cracked her grin exactly after Snape had described the Draught of Living Death (aptly named, it seemed). While her brain scrambled to catch up, Marie justified her smile with the first thing that came to mind.

"N-No, Sir. I was just happy because this seems a lot like cooking!"

Apparently, it was the worst possible thing she could have said. Laughter erupted across the classroom and Snape's face contorted into such a glare that Marie shrank back in her seat.

"Like_cooking_?" Snape said softly, approaching her table. "How_eloquent_ of you." He leaned over the desk, and Marie could see each gray hair, each angry line on her face, and his large nostrils flaring.

"Sorry," Marie said. Her voice came out smaller than she had intended. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean, it must be much more complicated than… than cooking…"

"You'll find it is," Snape said. Under his constant stare, Marie found his soft voice more frightening than if he had been yelling at her. Abruptly, Snape straightened and jabbed a finger toward the board. "What are you dunderheads waiting for? Begin!"

There was a flurry of activity as students leapt to their feet to retrieve their ingredients. Somehow, though she was nearest the ingredients cabinet, Marie got a hold of her ingredients last. Everyone else had already started stewing their horned slugs when she finally got back to her seat. It was hard enough to focus on the instructions scrawled across the board _without_ the Hufflepuff girls behind her squealing over the disgusting slugs, but Marie managed to produce a decent boil cure potion by the end of class. She carefully bottled a small vial of potion and presented it to Professor Snape. He took it without comment, but Marie could not help feeling proud. Her potion had turned out exactly like the description on the board!

When Orion came to pick up their class, Marie made eye contact again. _Three_… she thought, adding another tally to the running total. _No, wait, make that four._ It was going to be a long term.

* * *

**A/N: **Alright, I'm really curious... If anyone is actually reading this, I'd like to know what you thought of Professor Snape. I somewhat like the idea of him carrying on his interrogation tradition, perhaps as a memorial to Harry (who is dead in this story, by the way). I think Snape will be an interesting character in this story. So what do you think of him? 


End file.
